Right Where It Belongs
by SuperSixOne
Summary: This is a series of mostly unrelated oneshots involving Derek and Sam. In this, you will find both slash and het, so consider yourself warned.
1. Right Where It Belongs

**Disclaimer/Author's Notes:** _Life With Derek_ and any characters portrayed in this piece do not belong to me, with the exception of Cindy. With that out of the way, here is my small triple-drabble I'd written earlier to make myself feel better. Angsting Disney characters is good for the soul, folks! Note that this is not a sequel to _The Superunknown; _it is merely a "spin-off" of some sorts. Okay? Thank you. So, enjoy the drabbles. Reviews are lovely!

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The girl in the bar said her name was Cindy and that she went to NYU, that her brother was a businessman who worked on Wall Street for some big New York City law firm her father single-handedly managed, that she owned her own house in New Hampshire and I was welcome anytime, that she was on this roadtrip with a couple of girlfriends and they all thought Mounties were even cuter in person.

Stevie Ray Vaughan was on the stereo and I wanted to ask this girl to dance, to feel her lithe body against my own, run my fingers through that strawberry blonde hair and forget about things for awhile. I wanted to forget why I was really here, why there were three empty bottles of beer on the bar in front of me, and why I'd not allowed myself to follow the line of her lowcut v-neck sweater down.

Eventually, forgetting wouldn't matter. Only the snowdrifts pilling up against the motorlodge window, and the clothes that littered the worn carpet floor, and the twelve messages Derek had sent me, as if an apology over the phone would make up for what he'd done to me.

I turned my cell off just as Cindy walked back into the room, thick with the smell of sweat and sex and cheap beer. She smiled softly and dressed quietly before sitting on the corner of the bed, looking down at her slender hands and red acrylic nails. And there was something about this girl that made me burn.

You wanna come back to New York with us, Sam, she asked, brows furrowed and hands fidgeting.

Sure, why not, I replied. Laced up my shoes, scratched my cheek and tossed that fucking ring of Derek's in the trash, right where it belonged.


	2. Lucky Sam

**Notes:** So here's the newest installment to my drabble series. Reviews would be lovely, and, as always, enjoy:-)

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Ain't nothin' like waking up to greet the morning with a huge glob of drool sliding down your bare chest, let me tell you that, man.

Yeah, he's definitely lucky I love him, or else I may've smacked him upside the head for slobbering all over me. He's lucky he'd worn me out last night, or I might've been tempted to shove him from the bed and perhaps, and only because I'm feeling cruel, laugh as he makes contact with those cold floorboards of his.

But of course, I, Derek Venturi, am _never_ cruel.

I never tease him, never tie his wrists to the headboard and watch the game on TV, watching him twist and squirm from the corner of my eye all the while. I never pull back from a heated kiss in the shower, never button him back up when he's all ready to go, never cross the lines when it comes to underneath the table and cold fingers and flushed skin through threadbare jeans on those days we eat at his parents' place.

So I suck up my pride and try to ignore that icky, spitty feel on my skin. He's so fucking lucky I love him.


	3. Lucky Derek

**Notes:** So this is schmoopy enough to rot your teeth, but I could think of nothing else to write. Enjoy!

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The ceiling fan is noisy, and it's only keeping Derek awake. Screw Sam and his insistence that the clicky-clangy-bangy noise is _lulling_.

Speaking of Sam. Sam's out like a light, all tangled up in the sheets, snoring softly (and drooling) against the pillow, mouth slackened and eyelids flickering the midst of a dream.

Sam's skin is warm beneath Derek's hand, Sam's hair grazing Derek's neck in just the slightest of touches, Sam's fingers clutched in the inches of sheets between their bodies, Sam's collarbone marked in red by Derek's bites. His Sam, no-one else's but his.

Speaking of Sam. Derek envies Sam right about now, wishes he could just turn off his mind and let sleep take him away, wishes he could chase away all his thoughts and fall off the damn earth if that's what it'd take to get some rest.

But sleep's not coming for him tonight, Derek knows. He presses his mouth to Sam's temple and wonders how the happiest fucking guy on the planet can be kept awake by a goddamn ceiling fan.

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	4. Glue Factory Blues

**Notes:** Hey, all! I'm back with a little snippit from a series I'll be working on soon. I don't expect all you Derek/Sam shippers will be too happy with me for this, but that's okay. It's just an idea, and I'll leave it at that for _Right Where It Belongs_. I'll be getting to all those requests soon, so yay! Also, thank you to all who reviewed!

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He can taste the copper on his tongue, the inside of his cheek split and bleeding even still. Casey can serve up quite a fist when she's angry, because his face now aches something fierce, and no matter how hard he presses the pad of his thumb into the corner of his eye, the twitch won't fade.

But the angry abrasion blossoming on his cheek does nothing to conceal the dark lovebites where jaw meets neck, or the kiss-bruised mouth, the hair just long enough to curl fingers into and tug on.

"What are you _thinking_, Derek? Sam's my _ex-boyfriend_, your _best friend_! And you're _fucking_ him! Do you have _any idea_ how wrong that is?" Casey screams, words backed by the hate and hurt in her eyes, damp and gleaming by the kitchen lights.

"Casey… Casey…" He feels a little like dying, seeing her grip her forehead, brace herself against the fridge because standing without support is no longer an option. Takes an involuntary step forward, to console, to do something, but the island separates them, and the flinch his movement receives speaks louder than words.

"Derek," voice a whisper, "Derek, I don't even know you are anymore."

Takes a breath, laps up the blood in his mouth, swallows his pride, and looks anywhere but into her eyes. "I love him, Casey. Honest to God love him."

"No, Derek, you don't love him," she deadpans. "You think you do, but you don't. You can't fucking love anyone, you just break them in, make them yours, and when they're too old to keep up, you pack them off to the fucking glue factory."

A deathly sob escapes him, and he clamps a hand over his mouth, tears rolling down the grooves of his fingers.

"Sam deserves more, Derek. Sam deserves what you can't give him, what I couldn't give him. Maybe we deserve each other, Derek, but you're not doing this to my friend. I'm not going to let you do this to him."

Now it's her who can't meet his eyes, only wipes a hand over her face to brush away the anger and the tears. Pulls her hair back into a clip and pushes her shoulders back. Casey MacDonald, standing up straight, a tired actor in a nineteen-year-old body. Looking up at the ceiling.

"A couple months ago, three months ago, you were on that trip with George and the kids and Mom was God knows where. I was lonely, so I called Sam up and he came over. We hung out, screwed around. One thing led to another. It wasn't anything serious, and things were okay afterwards."

An ache deep in his chest, betrayal in a subtle form, something he can't quite name. "Why are you telling me this?"

Her mouth twists in a frown, a cruel disposition on a pretty face. "Because it's Sam's baby."

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Okay, so I'm not proud about the way this panned out, but don't think it's not gonna stop me from writing a series on the main idea. Consider it a sketchy outline.


	5. Only Hurts When Stardust Gets In Eyes

**Notes:** Wrote this under the influence of procrastination. Not very good. Not really slash. Read and review!

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"Dude, let's go to Vegas."

"You're on drugs, Venturi."

"No, man, seriously. Let's go right the fuck now. Let's go to _Vegas_."

"Are you freakin' crazy? I'm not going to Vegas with _you_."

Derek threw his Sports Illustrated to the side and jumped to his feet, jabbing his finger toward his bedroom window, curtains open wide and gaping to the picture of falling snow. "C'mon, dude! This fucking blows! You think it's snowing like this in Vegas? No. And you know who go to Vegas. Hot chicks. Hot chicks in tiny bikinis by the pool. And they travel in _flocks_, by the _dozens_, dude. By. The. Dozens."

"Derek, I don't know if you remember this or not, but we gotta go back to school on Monday," Sam deadpanned, looking up from the TV only briefly. Coz, you know, _I Love the 80's_ is so important.

"It's college, Sammy. Who cares if we don't show up for a couple days? It's not like they're gonna call our parents or whatever. We're 21. We control our own lives now."

"This is a very stupid idea."

"Look, we got a car, we got a couple of suits, and I been saving up some money for a rainy day."

"Yeah, Derek, for a _new roof_."

Derek frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "And since when have you been the voice of reason, Oh Mighty One?"

"Since I paid your rent last month," Sam said coolly."

Derek paused, glancing up at the ceiling (those watermarks are really starting to grow) before dropping to his knees by Sam's bed. He clasped his hands together, put on his best hurt puppy face, and began to plead, "Sam, Sammy, Sam, Sam, please, please! Gotta get outta here, man! Gonna go crazy! Sammy, please!"

Sam's blue eyes narrowed, though his lips twitched in amusement, something he couldn't hide no matter how hard he tried. "I want to be back here by Monday night, you hear?"

Derek whooped, grabbed Sam's face hard between his hands and laid one on him, right on the forehead. Coz, dude, Vegas!


	6. And You Smell Like One Too

**Notes:** Fluff for the win! Huzzah! I'd make this longer, but the _Supernatural_ fic, it calls to me, you see. Enjoy!

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"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too!"

"Ah, Derek, you're too sweet," Sam deadpanned, eyes gleaming by the light of the single candle adorning the small cake.

"Thank you, thank you," Derek replied, bowing his head to the imaginary audience in their apartment. "Now, blow out the goddamn candle or I won't blow—

Sam hushed him with the flip of his hand, looking ever so intently into the flame before squeezing his eyes shut and extinguishing the flame with a soft breath. "Made my wish," he muttered, glancing over at Derek.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam responded, looking dejectedly at the table. "But you're still here."

"Ouch." Derek grinned, then tackled a laughing Sam to the kitchen floor, leaving behind the chocolate cake and its single blue candle.


	7. Bad Wolf

Hey guys! I know it's been awhile since I last updated this, but I'm back! Back with a vengeance! Not! Read and review and share plot bunnies, as it keeps my soul out of the hands of the Devil. Thanks!

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"Martha."

"Rose."

"Martha!"

"Rose!" Derek chucked a pillow in Sam's general direction, pleased when it whacked him right in his stupid face.

Sam muttered a curse or two before throwing the pillow back, hard. "Look, I don't care what you think. Martha is smoking."

"Dude, it's all about Rose," Derek said, smirking. "Rose was badass. Rose didn't take shit from anyone. The Daleks are all, "EXTERMINATE!" and she's all, "Hell no!" and goes all Bad Wolf on their asses. What did Martha do? Oh yeah, she went hiking for a year. Big freaking deal."

"Pssh, whatever," Sam replied. "Agree with me on this: between the two of them, Martha had the best rack."

Derek's grin grew broadly. He turned his attention back onto the computer screen for a little reminder. "Oh, most definitely."


End file.
